


Script

by thehonestman (orphan_account)



Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorders, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 11:02:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20704904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thehonestman
Summary: Wonwoo always hears Mingyu, but he rarely listens to him. The two are not the same.





	Script

Wonwoo returns on a Friday.

“Welcome home,” Mingyu greets, and Wonwoo misses his sarcasm. Or actively ignores it.

“Thank you,” he smiles and lets himself inside. As he’s about to pass him by, Mingyu grabs Wonwoo around the waist with one hand and pulls the door shut with the other. Placing one hand on either of Wonwoo’s sides, he rubs his hands up and down, over and under his shirt, around and feeling his waist. And Wonwoo lets him. He just watches Mingyu’s eyes patiently as they follow his hands before coming to meet his own. And when they do, Wonwoo can’t look him in the face for too long -- at his illegible, empty stare -- and pulls him into a tight hug that lasts a bit longer than usual.

Once they finally pull away, Mingyu brings his bag upstairs and Wonwoo drifts around the house, wading roughly through the waves that pull at his feet like he’s a stranger to his own home. _ It has been a while _ he muses, looking on the minute decorative changes Mingyu had made while he was away. A new ornamental wreath here, a new candle there, and, where a picture of the two of them from their engagement shoot had previously sat on a side table, now sits a meaningless bowl of potpourri. Wonwoo picks up a piece of a dried flower and frowns, tosses it back in the bowl when he hears Mingyu coming back down the stairs.

“You don’t have to act like I’m dead, you know,” Wonwoo gestures vaguely to the new decor. “When I leave.” Mingyu frowns for a second, seeming to think Wonwoo has gone too far in his assumptions.

“The picture is in our room.” Wonwoo nods. “First thing I see when I wake up.” And now Wonwoo grins, wide and striking, and feels, for the first time in a while, some string of positive emotion. 

“I’ve never known you to be so sentimental.”

“Don’t ever say that again.” Wonwoo allows himself to collapse into the couch, shuddering at the sudden realization that the house is unbearably, immeasurably cold.

“It’s freezing in here.”

“That’s because you are dying.” Mingyu does not miss a beat. Wonwoo barks out a laugh.

“Yeah, I guess it is.” He watches Mingyu wander aimlessly around the house, now his turn to feel out of place with the sudden conversation change, but he knows where this is going, if the way Mingyu keeps glancing back at him from the kitchen is any indication. And in the moment, he does not care enough to prevent the pain by speaking up first. Wonwoo lets Mingyu wonder, lets them both wallow in the unknown: the buildup before the fall.

“Do you want me to cook something?” Mingyu says, and this is it, really, but somehow, it doesn’t feel like it.

“No, that’s okay,” Wonwoo returns, and Mingyu looks into him. “Really,” he laughs, “I just ate with my parents.” Mingyu moves on, carrying on with the day as if Wonwoo hadn’t been gone at all, waiting all day for the moment to read through the script that he’d read so many times before, the never-ending final act of the play he’s been putting on forever. Just to demonstrate.

But he knows it will never come, knows he’ll have to force it. Force it all.

“Wonwoo.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t keep doing this.” Wonwoo collects himself, truly not expecting the curtains to be drawn this early in the day, but prepared nonetheless, script in hand like he wrote it himself. Which he did.

“You always tell me you don’t want to see me doing it anymore. So I can’t stay here. What else am I supposed to do?”

“Break up with me,” Mingyu says, and Wonwoo actually looks scared for a second, because this is not on the script. But he hides it well.

“Is that what you want?”

“Not at all. Either break up with me or get some help.”

“That shit never works. It’s either a prison or completely ineffective, it’s so much easier to just deal with it on my own.”

“But you’re not dealing with it, right?” Mingyu snaps. “Right?” He repeats, close to Wonwoo’s face now, teasing and poking and prodding, waiting to see if Wonwoo will crack. He won’t.

“Right,” Wonwoo says, right back on script. He stands up and stops right in front of Mingyu, squarely face to face. “Aren’t you at least glad to see me doing well for now? Aren’t you glad I’m here?” And Mingyu grabs his chin, holds his face as he would a plate, and rubs his thumb along the scruff on his chin, watching intently like he’s searching for something.

“You look beautiful,” he whispers, and Wonwoo keens, arches into the touch like a dog and kisses Mingyu softly before he heads upstairs. 

In the morning, Mingyu wakes up early and leaves Wonwoo to sleep in, knows the tiredness he must feel, a constant victim of the exhaustion that lives in his bones. He brews a pot of coffee and leaves the maker on for Wonwoo before leaving.

At the grocery store, Mingyu strolls aisle to aisle, somewhat exhilarated by the thought of being able to buy Wonwoo’s favorite things again. He quickly doubles the amount of his most recent shopping trip without holding on to too much hope. _ Faith, hope, and love_, Mingyu thinks. _ That’s all I’ve got. _

Turning down another aisle, Mingyu subconsciously hesitates to keep going when he sees a familiar face. He is greeted by the woman who has taught him everything he knows: an elderly neighbor who is Mingyu’s favorite kind of person because she always knows everything without even knowing how she knows it.

“Mingyu,” she greets, turning slowly to look at him with a motherly smile. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he smiles back easily, naturally. “It’s been a while. I’m not used to cooking for myself, I was becoming so dependent on your dinners,” he jokes.

“Well, I was waiting for your boy to come back.” _ Your boy, _ Mingyu thinks. _ Those are some words_. She always refers to Wonwoo as “Mingyu’s boy” despite having met him on multiple occasions. But she had known Mingyu long before Wonwoo had moved in with him, and is never around long enough for them to spend much time together. _ He is my boy_, Mingyu thinks. _ He is. _ “But I saw he just got home again yesterday, right?” she continues, breaking Mingyu out of his brief reverie. She knows everything. Her smile widens.

“Yeah, he just got back.” 

“How is he?” she asks, no hesitation. And if it were anyone else, Mingyu’s go-to would be ‘he’s good’ because they don’t know. But she knows.

“He’s . . . you know,” he tips his head from side to side to indicate. She catches on to Mingyu getting tired of the conversation and makes a clear move to wrap things up.

“Well tell him I wish him well. Stop over soon.”

“Will do,” Mingyu smiles, appreciating the out. She grabs his arm gently then.

“And remember that he needs you,” she warns. “Remember that he’s suffering too.”

Back at home, Mingyu carries in the groceries and his mood is heightened upon seeing Wonwoo sitting on the couch watching the television, still sipping at coffee. _ My boy_.

“Hey,” he addresses him, and drops the groceries on the kitchen counter. He makes his way over to the couch.

“Hi. Is there more in the car?” Wonwoo asks him, putting his mug down while keeping his eyes narrowed on Mingyu, approaching rapidly.

“No,” Mingyu mumbles lowly, pulling Wonwoo back down onto the couch and laying on top of him. Wonwoo groans and pushes gently to get Mingyu to sit up next to him. When he does, Wonwoo turns over to swing his legs over Mingyu’s lap, looking up at his face from the side for a second before dropping his eyes down. He watches Mingyu’s hands rub idly at his bare legs, expecting Mingyu to be looking as well, but when he checks, Mingyu is just watching the television. Somehow, it’s sweeter.

“I ran into Mrs. Moon in the store,” Mingyu breaks the silence. Not moving his hands. Not moving his eyes.

“Oh, yeah?”

“She asked about you.”

“That’s sweet.”

“She was happy to hear you’re doing well,” Mingyu offers with the softness of a child, and Wonwoo hums, closing his eyes and moving closer to let his head rest on Mingyu’s shoulder. Mingyu’s hands start moving higher, and Wonwoo grabs his wrist and moves them further down his leg. Mingyu obeys without batting an eye.

“Do you still see her alot?”

“I haven’t for a while. Not without you.” He picks and chooses what to say, makes up his own version of what happened in the store, protecting Wonwoo from what he sees fit.

“What do you do while I’m gone?” Wonwoo whispers, and Mingyu’s eyes flick down to the top of Wonwoo’s head for just a second. 

“Not much. Work. Drink. Pray.”

“Pray.” It’s not a question.

“Yes.”

"For what?” Mingyu is almost ready to destroy this.

“For you, mostly,” he admits. “I pray that I can understand you.” Now Wonwoo sits upright, and Mingyu is forced to look him in the face.

“You don’t understand me?”

“Not really. I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing, though.”

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo warns, suddenly gravely serious. “_Mingyu_,” he repeats, in case he didn’t get it. “We _ live _ together. We’re getting _ married_. And you’re going to tell me you ‘don’t understand me?’ What the fuck does that even mean? You know me better than anybody,” he rants. And as much as Mingyu wants to say that he really doesn’t know him at all, he suddenly thinks of Mrs. Moon’s parting words at the store. _ Remember that he needs you. _ He backtracks.

“Relax. I just meant I don’t _ entirely _ understand you. I mean of course I understand you, but . . ." he trails off. Wonwoo sinks down much lower into the couch, looks around the room dejectedly.

“You don’t understand me, or you don’t understand what happens to me?” Mingyu recognizes hope in his voice. Wonwoo is giving him an easy way out. Mingyu does not take it.

“Pretty much the same thing, really,” he chooses instead. Wonwoo frowns.

“I don’t want you to think of me like that.” Mingyu exhales heavily, closes his eyes and tilts his head back onto the wall behind them.

“It’s really, really hard not to.” And he expects it to stop there, but Wonwoo is nothing if not persistent.

“Why are you being so nasty to me?”

“So that you can’t be nasty to yourself.”

* * *

Mrs. Moon’s house, they realize, has always felt a little more like home than their own.

“Do you need help with anything? I can make the porridge,” Wonwoo offers, up from his chair and already taking over her position at the kitchen counter. She denies at first out of obligation, but with Wonwoo’s insistence, she relents. Secretly grateful, she sits down next to Mingyu at the kitchen table.

“You’re a doll,” she says, and Mingyu perks up.

“I always tell him that,” he quips. Wonwoo snickers. “He looks like a porcelain doll.”

They sit in a comfortable silence for a moment as Mrs. Moon watches Mingyu watch Wonwoo’s back as he moves about the kitchen.

“You know,” Wonwoo says suddenly, “I don’t think I’ve ever cooked for you before.” Mrs. Moon shifts her eyes to him. “It’s usually the other way around.”

“You’re obviously quite the chef,” she smiles. “And it’s just porridge, you can’t really mess it up.” _ It’s just porridge,_ Wonwoo thinks, and frowns at the thought. For a brief moment, he stops all movements and looks down into the pot of porridge and stops breathing for a second; he realizes vaguely that he does not even recognize his own hands.

Mingyu and Mrs. Moon both catch on to his sudden stiffness and they share a meaningful look. But then the moment is over and Wonwoo is back to normal, and they all take that as a good sign. Mingyu still stands up and gets a drink of water from the fridge for an excuse to stand by him.

“So,” Mingyu leans his back on the counter and rubs Wonwoo’s shoulder gently, “what have you been doing lately?”

“This and that,” Mrs. Moon shrugs. Mingyu laughs.

“Always so mysterious.” It occurs to him that he knows almost nothing of Mrs. Moon’s life before he’d met her. But like everything else, she knows all about Mingyu’s. She knows about Wonwoo’s too, but somehow, she does not know these things because anyone told her.

“A little mystery is always fun,” Wonwoo chimes in, and Mrs. Moon winks at him.

“I don’t do much. Shop, feed the cats, watch the news. You don’t want to end up this way.”

“You seem at least somewhat fulfilled.”

“It’s about filling my time more than enjoying it.”

“I hope you at least enjoy us being here,” Mingyu joins in, and it takes her a second to break her eyes from Wonwoo. But then they shift back.

“I don’t ever have anyone else over.”

“Really? Why not?” 

“Mm,” she grimaces, “too loud.” They wonder what this means for a moment. “You two are the right kind of calm for me,” she adds, and the brief quietness that ensues is comforting. After a few moments, Mingyu finally returns to the kitchen table, flicks at the edge of an old newspaper sitting there, and smiles.

“Also,” Mrs. Moon adds after a while, pausing until she has their full attention. “I love wedding planning.”

“Is that what you used to do?” Mingyu asks, tries to tick off something on his list of the unknown. She hears the smile in his voice.

“This is done,” Wonwoo announces before she can answer, and brings the pot of porridge over to the center of the table, and they hear the smile in his voice too. He excuses himself to the bathroom then, and Mingyu’s eyes meet Mrs. Moon’s automatically, unquestioningly.

“He looks good,” Mrs. Moon says in an utterly unreadable tone. Mingyu takes it in stride.

“Yeah. He is.”

“Did you talk to his parents?” And she should not have asked that, because they’ve been over this before, and she knows the first word Mingyu thinks of when he thinks of Wonwoo’s parents is _ enablers_. Even though he might be the worst offender. But he’d prefer to not think of that right now.

She catches on to him not answering, and continues on her own: “He looks like he’s taking care of himself.” Mingyu smiles.

“Yes.”

“Or are you taking care of him.”

“A bit of both. I don’t mind it, though. If he needs it.”

“He does.” Wonwoo returns then, seems to have at least caught the end of their short conversation. Either that, or he’s incredibly intuitive, because he sits down next to Mingyu and holds his hand, rubbing it with the other and squeezing in a meaningful way. 

Mingyu watches him eat then, and admires the way his skin glows and the warmth that emanates from him, characteristic of his returns. He wants to kiss him and tell him he’s proud of him right there, but that would hardly be appropriate in the presence of Mrs. Moon. So he just watches them talk briefly, allows himself to take a back seat in the conversation. _ Yeah, this looks good_, Mingyu thinks. _ This looks good_.

* * *

For a while, Wonwoo _ does _ look good to Mingyu. He’s always looked good, but this time around he operates with such precision that it is almost unnatural, but he’s doing all the right things. And the days pass that way, two people once again back on track in a strange dynamic to be understood by few. On paper, Wonwoo is great: he eats well, sleeps well, works hard. Wonwoo treats Mingyu to dates again, initiates their wedding planning again, holds his hand in public. 

On paper, everything is all right. But it’s right; it’s too right.

Mingyu can’t deny the way that perfection wears off after a while, though. Degrades, even. Dies and decays. After a few weeks of Wonwoo being home and living like he did before this all started -- if that time ever existed, Mingyu’s not sure -- he sees the cracks start to form, the way they start in one small spot, then spread with rapidity: cracks that crawl like spiderwebs. Mingyu never notices any major change, but then again, Wonwoo has never been one for histrionics. It happens gradually: he just catches him being a little too quiet, a little too demure, carrying himself a little too stiffly -- those things he had noted for being perfect now turned slightly sour, just enough to throw off the taste but not enough to throw out the meal just yet.

Because that’s the thing about people like Mrs. Moon, and in turn, people Mingyu surrounds himself with: they know everything except for what is to come, only having a full grasp on the situation when it happens, but no capability of prediction.

Though he can’t blame Mrs. Moon; he can only blame himself. Mrs. Moon just happens to be neighbors with them and thereby has no obligation to look after them, and Wonwoo is not quite lucid enough to put a stop to this. So it’s all on Mingyu, really, and he can’t be blamed for falling into the cycle of Wonwoo’s constant comings and goings, because when it’s bad, Mingyu is always ready to just drop out of this race before the next cycle can begin. But when it’s good, it’s dinner dates and wedding planning and hand holding, and it’s so _ good _ that Mingyu almost can’t wait for the cycle to happen again because that just means that there will be another high after the absence.

This time feels no different, really, and as much as he loves Wonwoo, he knows what’s coming. So he decides to test the waters, worried about what he might find.

* * *

In the kitchen, Wonwoo leans out the window watering the plants in the windowsill. He pulls his upper body back inside when he feels Mingyu’s hands on him.

“What are you doing?” 

“Watering these plants. I can tell you didn’t do it while I was gone.” He smiles up at Mingyu who looks down on him with a strange sea of emotion in his eyes.

“They should have watered themselves.” Wonwoo just turns around and goes back to watering the plants, and Mingyu touches him again. And he comes back inside again, one hand reaching back to grab Mingyu’s wrist. 

“Do you need something?” he asks through a laugh. And Mingyu smiles at him, lets Wonwoo take his hesitation for sheepishness.

“No,” he says, and slips both hands down to the small of Wonwoo’s back, pressing them close together. He ignores the way Wonwoo feels somewhat strange against him and slips his hands lower to grab high on the back of his thighs, squeezing lightly. “It’s just been a while,” he continues, and kisses Wonwoo’s neck repeatedly, now rubbing between his thighs. Wonwoo still has a hand on Mingyu’s wrist which he uses to guide his hands up, guide their bodies apart.

“Not now,” Wonwoo lets him down gently, and Mingyu loses his breath because this is not the first time, and this is a sign that Wonwoo is going to leave again. Or more accurately, it’s a sign that he never really came back. And Wonwoo withdraws into himself upon Mingyu’s sudden coldness, recognizing that he’s been found out. He knew that sadness and to see it here worried him. “What’s wrong?” he asks, but like Mrs. Moon, he already knows. 

“I guess just pack your bags again, then.”

“What do you mean?” Mingyu sighs and puts both hands on the counter, one hand on each side of Wonwoo. Wonwoo runs his hand through Mingyu’s hair as he waits for him to respond.

“I know what you’re doing.” Wonwoo says nothing. “Or maybe I don’t know what you’re doing, but I know you’re not really here with me anymore.”

“I love you, Mingyu. I always will.”

“I love you, but you’re not the same.” He starts to lose his composure, fighting the oncoming panic as he breathes in sharper and sharper breaths. “You’re so sick. You’re so fucking sick.” Wonwoo stops his movements.

“Why do you say that?”

“It’s just obvious. And it sucks because I can’t do anything about it.”

"How is it obvious?"

"Why do you do this to yourself?"

"How is it obvious?”

"You never let me touch you.”

"Is that it?" Wonwoo asks, and Mingyu just stands up to look him straight in the eyes. “This is all because you just want to touch me?” 

"That’s not all, but yes. Is that so bad? Is it so bad that I want to touch you? I mean, _ fuck _ Wonwoo. You know what I’m saying. You’re not here. Yes, I want to fucking touch you. I just want to be _ normal _with you.”

"Then touch me,” Wonwoo orders, grabbing Mingyu by the wrist once again. Mingyu sighs, ready to give up.

“I don’t want to play games.”

“Touch me. Right now.” Wonwoo guides the two of them upstairs, and Mingyu follows obediently, grateful and scared. In their bedroom, Wonwoo stands in front of the bed and turns around to face Mingyu. He stares at him for a second thinking about how to proceed, and Mingyu wonders what he’s breaking down in his head. 

In one swift movement, Wonwoo shoves Mingyu by his chest, but not to push him away. To encourage him.

"Stop holding back.”

"What?” Wonwoo pushes him again, harder.

“Be a fucking man. Stop holding back. I’m not going to break.” _ Break _ is a word that enters Mingyu’s mind often when he thinks of Wonwoo. 

"What do you want me to do?” Mingyu holds his hands down at his sides tightly. Wonwoo hesitates for a second.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

"You said I was going to touch you.”

“You can touch me if you tell me.” And this is so new, but Mingyu feels calm, because suddenly, after the brief assertiveness from Wonwoo, everything has slowed down, the room suddenly so much warmer. Mingyu begins to speak, words coming out without thought, spilling and growing on their own.

"Every time you leave, I’m scared you won’t come back.” Wonwoo takes off his shirt.

"What else?”

"I feel like you do this because of me.” Wonwoo takes off his pants.

“What else?”

"I don’t feel like we’ll ever be back to normal.” Wonwoo takes off his socks.

"What else?” Mingyu hesitates. Wonwoo pushes him again. “What else?”

“I don’t think you’ll ever get better.” And Wonwoo is fully naked now. They usually like it dark, but with this newfound honesty, Wonwoo is not afraid to show himself to Mingyu. Mingyu doesn’t even look at his body, just at his face before falling forward into him and onto the bed. From there, they make love swiftly and with a passion they thought they’d forgotten, and for once, for a change, everything feels real, and raw, and honest, like they’ve been living under a glass dome for the past ten years and that it’s finally shattered, leaving them finally exposed to the outside.

Once finished, Mingyu finally has the time to fully look over Wonwoo’s body, no longer distracted by his games or clouded by his tears. He kneels on the bed next to Wonwoo lying on his back and runs his hands through his hair repeatedly, looking down at him silently as he thinks about what Wonwoo had said to him about him not breaking him, and he feels like he just did. Or at least he broke _ something_, because no longer do they feel free and honest. The glass is back, and feels more solid than ever.

He catalogues every part of Wonwoo’s body with his eyes, takes in the collarbones and the fingers and the thighs with a kind of subdued acceptance, but the ribs have always been the worst part. To Mingyu, Wonwoo’s body looks genuinely scary, and the word _ break _ comes back into his head, alongside the others like _ hope _ and _ suffering _ and _ pray_. And _ your boy. _It doesn’t feel like he is. He feels like he belongs to someone else, maybe his parents or Mrs. Moon or this thing that’s killing him.

“Look at you.”

“Go again?”

“No.”

Mingyu lowers himself down slowly until he’s lying in a strange, sideways position alongside Wonwoo, settling his chin on his projecting hip bone. From this angle, he looks even scarier: more like an abstract shape than a person. And when Wonwoo speaks up, Mingyu had not been expecting him to come back to some of the recent words they’d shared. 

“I’m glad you told me what you were thinking.”

“I’ve told you those things before.”

“But not in those words.” And then Mingyu starts to cry, and Wonwoo feels the sticky wetness on his hip that Mingyu does not try to wipe up. For what he cries, Mingyu is not sure, but he can’t very well fool himself into thinking it’s relief or some kind of expectation that Wonwoo will make a change. Because Wonwoo always hears Mingyu, but he rarely listens to him. The two are not the same.

And as Mingyu cries over Wonwoo’s body, he feels himself being pulled up to be level with his face. Wonwoo watches him suffer from up close, and wishes he didn’t like it.

“I’m still here, Mingyu. I’m not dead.”

“You’re always disappearing.”

“I’m trying,” Wonwoo says, though the battle is already lost. “Don’t worry about me. I’m going to be alright.” Mingyu just shakes his head, because after all this time, he still doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get that this is the end of it all, not just the end of this month’s bill of health.

“When will you see what this really is?” He cries out for what he knows, begs with an earnestness neither of them has ever known before because he is not yet ready for the cycle to begin again: “When will you look it in the face?”


End file.
